


1p, 2p, Red Tea, Blue Key

by LuckpinLove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, Bad Jokes, I accidentally spell Kumajirou as Kumojiro, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Minor Violence, Swearing, idk - Freeform, what else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckpinLove/pseuds/LuckpinLove
Summary: The 2ps? Who are they? How do they act? If they had the chance to meet their 1ps, what would happen? These are questions about the fanmade "Another Colour"/ 2nd Player characters most of us wouldn't really know the answer to. Delve into the minds of several characters, following the path of Matthew Williams, the rest of the 1ps, and the 2ps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Both country and human names used. I've listed some characters that might not show up until later chapters or just might be mentioned in the Characters list.

“Oh hi, Alfred!” I smile and open the door wide to let in America. He smiles back, wearing dark grey shorts and a blue t-shirt with a small white star on the upper left. The hazy sun illuminates the bead of sweat on his forehead. Unfortunately, brother forgot to put on deodorant so that weird, slightly salty smell hung in the air around him (yuck). The small, round hedges lining the short, evenly cut jade grass are slightly brown behind him. My driveway is empty of any vehicle (I had put my car in the garage), bar America's navy blue convertible with a white stripe.

“Yo, Mattie." We walk into my living room, the hardwood floor creaking slightly beneath our feet. "Hey, Kumojiro," America addresses the white polar bear as he settles down on my mint green couch. He turns to me as I sit on my leather armchair, where I had been reading. The fireplace beside me is empty, the mantelpiece hosting a few framed photos and two Canadian flags on stands. "Too much maple leaf stuff," he complains, poking one of the blankets that I keep on the couch. Well, you guys should see his house. I'm not the brother who decorates all of my stuff according to my national flag.

"So, what's up, Al?" I ask, curious. America does show up now and then just to hang out but this time his face is basically glowing with excitement. He fidgets and beams, his sky blue eyes twinkling with content behind his glasses. Swiping his hand across his forehead, he upsets his light blond hair. His cowlick just springs back up.

"I'm going to be a dad!"

"What?!" I gasp and leap up from my comfy seat, knocking down the book on its arm. I bend down to pick it up and place it on the coffee-table. I stay standing, and cross my arms.

"Nah bro, I was just kidding." he laughs, looking at my flushed expression. I present to you: the United Stench of America and his jokes. Yay. "Though, this news is pretty exciting, nonetheless!"

"Just get to the point," I say simply, walking to the kitchen. He follows me and Kumo waddles after. I grab chocolate ice cream from the freezer, since it was the beginning of summer and a slight heatwave here.

"Well, Arthur said he managed to snag a summerhouse near a gigantic lake and mountains at his home," my brother informs. He shoves a spoonful of frozen goodness into his mouth. "He invited me and a few others. He told me to tell you that you- and Kumojiro- are invited, too."

"Oh, sounds like fun," I comment, putting a heaping spoonful of ice cream in my mouth, too. I close my eyes for a moment to savour the flavour. The wonders of ice cream! "When shall we come?"

"Well, we can come anytime this week starting tomorrow afternoon," America supplies. "I'm planning on leaving tomorrow at noon, and happen to have an extra plane ticket. Do you want to come with?"

"Sure!" I grin. "Kumo, do you want to come to Arthur's summerhouse with us?"

"Yes, please, err-"

"Matthew or Canada," I fill in. Even my polar bear friend sometimes forgets my name (insert neutral face emoji here). "Who else is coming, and how long?" I scrape the sides of my bowl with my spoon.

"Well, Artie said we can stay for how long as we want, a month at max." Sounds of metal scraping ceramic. Clink of metal against teeth. "The former Axis powers, along with Gilbert and Lovino, are coming. The rest of the Allies, Antonio, and the ol' Nordics are joining, too."

"Wow, so around sixteen nations total are coming." I place my spoon down. "Let me guess, it's more of a summer _mansion_ than summerhouse."

"Haha, you got that right, bro," America says. "How long do you want to stay?" I pick up our dishes and head towards the sink. 

"Well, I can't exactly make a decision until I see the place, can I?" Water rushing from tap. "I'll probably just pack enough for the whole month, though." I rub dish soap onto the dishes. America comes and sits on top of the granite counter beside me, Kumojiro on his lap. "How about you?" America ponders for a moment.

"Well, I gotta agree with you on that," he says. "I'll probably leave with you, too." I put the dishes in the dish rack. We walk into the hallway, stopping for a moment. I watch Kumojiro walk into my recreational room.

"Want to play table, one-on-one?" I ask. He nods in reply and we both follow Kumo inside. I don't need to tell him that it's table hockey. I'm big fan for hockey of all shapes and forms.

_-Time skip-_

"Cya, and I'll beat ya next time!" America waves from his blue car. A light breeze (finally!) plays across my face from where I'm standing in the doorway. He starts his car, putting the roof down first thing.

"In your _dreams_!" I laugh back. The score had been 10 me, 7 America. Some people doubt my hockey ability (usually because they don't notice me or think I'm too soft and shy). But once they see me smoke them, that usually makes them a believer. "See you tomorrow!" He drives off.

I shut the door and head upstairs, Kumojiro in my arms. I open up my bedroom door. It's not that grand of a room. Brown, cedar walls with matching hardwood floor. White king-sized bed with red blankets and pillows wearing pillowcases designed like my flag. Birch desk with my laptop charging on top. Lavender curtains and two doors; one to my private washroom and walk-in closet. A maple wood wardrobe and storage chest complete the scene. I plop Kumo down on my bed, causing the covers to wrinkle a bit. I head to my closet, where the navy blue suitcase I always use is outside of, still there from the meeting in Greece a few days ago.

I put it beside Kumo, who shifted around to watch me. I place my phone on charge and then sort through the contents, taking away what I wouldn't need (bye, forgotten laundry) and adding what I did (hello laptop, books, and t-shirts). The tedious work takes about a couple of hours, unexpectedly. Finally, I get to shut my eyes and fall into the quiet envelope of sleep.

Though, not that quiet.

_-Dream Starts-_

_My vision is all hazy, my glasses somewhere that I can't see them. I try moving my body but am stopped; my arms, legs, and chest are strapped down. I can see people, who seem slightly familiar, but not. I can hear muffled whispering around me and are unable to pick out the words. I squint my eyes to see better, but there is barely a difference. I try moving my head, and then someone moves. Someone with pastel colours who seems to be holding glasses-_ my _glasses. The mysterious person seemingly smiles and slips them on me, then speaking as things come to focus._

_"Hello, poppet."_

_-Dream Ends, Skip to Morning-_

I wake up in a cold sweat, which is strange, as for the first time in days a cold breeze is gusting through my room from the window. I don't shiver, though, and just go and close it. I slip on my glasses and read the time on the clock beside my bed.

7:13 AM

I gently poke Kumojiro awake (I remember the scratches he gave me when I poked him a bit to hard) and get ready. I quickly scarf down a bowl of cereal. I usually have pancakes, but it's a bit hot to slave over a hot stove, despite the sudden wind. I know it's early, but I go next door to tell my neighbors that I'm going on a trip. Mr and Mrs Katon don't mind looking after my house and sometimes Kumo when I'm away on trips. Saves me the trouble of having Boss nag me about getting someone to look after it; I can always trust the Katons.

It's about 10:45 by the time Kumo and I get picked up by America, who has a friend who's driving so we wouldn't have to worry about our cars. The airport is pretty hot, the temperature having gone up since I woke. The process of screening and baggage handling is the same as usual. We just manage to get to our seats mere minutes before take-off.

I close my eyes after inserting my earbuds in so I won't be disturbed by noise. Then, I start to ponder on the dream. I usually don't have dreams like that, and I don't think I've seen some of those people in real life before. Though, what was nagging me was how they seemed slightly familiar to me. I couldn't make out any details, so I don't know why they seem so familiar, and even close to me!

I think and think a bit more, but easily succumb to more pleasing thoughts.

_-Time skip about nine hours-_

The taxi driver drives us on a path sloping slightly down. I had rolled down my window a while ago, the cool night breeze dancing on my face pleasantly. A deep, dark forest borders the path on either side, stars and a half moon above shining above. The road twists around a a huge clump of (presumingly) oak trees and the rest of the property is revealed. The summerhouse sits near the black lake, which seems to contain each and every star in its depths. A sandbar stretches around it and the forest continues to surround for many kilometres. The mountain that America mentioned before starts at the edge of the sandbar opposite of the house. The house itself is grand. The entrance lights are on, so I can see the roof is of dark green. Walls of light brown are met with windows framed with white. The house is pretty wide and three storeys high. It's really something of a beauty, the whole estate put together.

As we stop at the entrance, the grand, dark brown doors open up to reveal a blond, leaf green-eyed Brit with unusually thick eyebrows- England. He's walks to meet us in his usual green uniform (did he sleep in that?!) as we unload our luggage from the taxi.

"Hullo, Alfred, Matthew." He bends down to ruffle the top of Kumojiro's head. "And hullo, Kumojiro." England comes to me and grabs the smallest of my two suitcases and the smallest of America's. "I trust that your aeroplane and cab rides were good?" The taxi drives off. I open my mouth to respond, but America beats me to it.

" 'evening, Iggy." England winces. He's not that much of a fan of the 'using nicknames to address fellow colleagues' thing. "It was okay, I guess." I nod to confirm that I also thought it was an okay trip, though my agreement might've went unnoticed.

"Good, good, chaps," he says. "This way, now." England leads us into the house.

The inside pretty modern. There is no carpeting (except one at the doors, an equal shade of green as the roof). The floor is shiny cherry hardwood, one wide staircase a few of meters ahead of us. The right side leads to the living room and there's a few doors across it on the stairs' side. The left mirrors the right, except there is a kitchen instead of a living room. England leads us down the left side. Going past the door right beside the staircase, he stops at the second. There is sheet of paper, and seeming to glow because of the hallway light, reads my name in red, curly writing.

"Matthew, here is your room," he says. He hands me a silver key.  "The door between you and the staircase is one of the bathrooms. " England places down my suitcase and takes America off to his room, leaving me and Kumo alone.

I set down my suitcase and insert the key into the lock. I push the dark door and slide my hand up and down the wall inside beside it for a light switch. My hand catches and the lights turn on. Kumojiro and I walk in and put the suitcases beside the bed. He snuggles under the covers as I change it my sleeping attire. I then take quick survey of the room. The walls are unpainted birch and the twin bed has white and light grey covers and sheets. I have a good window view of the lake and mountain, I realize as I draw back the dark green curtains. I slide open the big window to air out the stuffy room. I start to unpack a bit. There is a pine wardrobe where I decide to only put my more day-time clothes. I stack my books on the matching desk beside it. I sigh.

Even though I haven't been here long, this place seems wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2

I stretch my arms over my head and am finished from typing. I yawn, Kumo's snores continuing. It was about three days since we've arrived and I was a bit behind on doing my paperwork. Yes, even us nations have to do some sort of paperwork now and then. It's confidential stuff that you might think that our Boss or the federal government does. But no, the actual nations have to do their fair share. Luckily, it's not that much, though it's still enough to make me want them to do it for me. I close down my laptop and put it into the birch desk's narrow drawer. I open up a notebook and start to absentmindedly doodle on the pages. Hey, it's not like I'm going to start something new at night or go to bed early.

 

Over the last few days, it was only England, America, Kumojiro, France, and I. France had come while we were having lunch the day America and I had come. Yup, the whole family was here (some people call us the FACE or CAFE family for humour, though FACE is used the most.) And yes, France and England do (secretly) like each other, but they don't want anyone to know that. Germany and Prussia are expected to be coming tonight, and Italy, Romano, Japan, and Spain are expected to come tomorrow morning. For the Nordics (Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland, in case you didn't know), Russia, and China, they've still haven't contacted England to when they're planning to arrive.

 

Oh, and for your information, I haven't _just_ been staying indoors and working. I went hiking with England twice so far, though he kept talking to the air. France taught me a few recipes (most were ones he created or from his homeland). America and I just played volleyball ourselves today. I managed to also update and post photos on my Tumblr.

 

I exhale my breath deeply, pause, and close my eyes for a moment. I could feel a headache coming. It's not like the work is hard, stressful, or that i'm being overworked, I just sometimes get slight headaches when I finish important paperwork about a week after I receive it. Very, very weird, I know. Well, it's not my fault I got logged out from my email and didn't see the work in my Inbox until an hour ago.

 

I yelp and snap my eyes (painfully) open as I feel my glasses pressed into my face to see a familiar pair of pale hands. Uncommonly pale, to be exact. I know who those belong to. Only one nation was that pale and it was...

 

“Gilbert!” I scold, tugging at the hands to be removed. Prussia laughs and does so. I take off my glasses and clean the fogged up lenses, then tug them back on. I turn my chair around to face him, who's laughing slightly at me. I glare at him for a moment; he knows not to touch the glasses I wear.

 

"And good evening, birdie," he laughs. I mumble a 'good evening, Gil' back. Prussia, the same old albino boyfr- _friend_. The same old _friend_. He is _not_ my boyfriend. (Insert one blushing emoji here) Okay fine, he is, but don't tell France! Ok, as I was saying. Prussia, the same old albino boyfriend of mine for about five months now. He wears black shorts, a (ironically) Prussian blue tank top, and dark brown combat boots. He's also wearing his usual Iron Cross on a chain around his neck alongside a dog collar on a different chain.

 

"How'd you sneak past Francis?" I ask. Sure, he might be on the other side of the house, but France suspects that me and Prussia have something going on. So, he has this uncanny way of knowing if Prussia is coming to see me. Also very, very weird. Well, the weirdness gene _does_ run in the FACE family. I have a fricking _polar bear_ , England sees stuff that isn't there, and America is a bit.. big-headed.

 

"Just a bit more awesomeness added to my current amount." Yup, proud to call this being of big-headedness my lover. "And West might've helped a bit," he admits hesitantly. I laugh, but then immediatley groan and start to to massage my forehead. Prussia's cocky, scarlet gaze softens a bit and he leaves my room. I hear the sound of water running in the kitchen across and a few seconds later he returns with a tall, glistening glass of water, which he hands to me. After I nod gratefully, I open the top desk drawer on the right where I had decided to put my Tylenol medication and gulp down two pills with the water. I place the glass onto the desk.

 

"It's late, birdie," Prussia comments simply, holding up the screen of his phone. 10:57 AM. Huh, I thought it was only like nine o'clockish. He pecks a quick, good night kiss on my forehead. "Good night. I'm up on the second level on the right, if you need me."

 

"Good night, Gil," I respond then yawn. "Lets meet up for lunch at one tomorrow, okay?" Not even France can say anything about us eating lunch together in the kitchen where everyone can see us. He nods, flicks off the lights and closes the door softly. I get up from my chair to sleepily change quietly in the dark. I leave the window open and proceed to climb into bed.

 

_-Time Skip About Two Hours-_

_Crash!_

 

I wake up and stay frozen in place, my heart racing. I listen for any abnormal noise, but what I do manage to hear under my pounding heart is Kumojiro snoring, curtains flapping, and waves from the lake. I steady my breath to a slow and steady pace. Then, I open my partly blind eyes and my breath catches. The window screen is lying on the ground, I can tell distinctly. What I assume is the glass that was on my table is now sharp shards scattered on the ground by it. The forest green curtains settle down completely after being moved slightly a moment earlier.

 

I inch my hand slowly to my glasses case, and just manage to grasp it when a tanned hand grabs me by the wrist. I try to twist my arm out of the grip, but the intruder just tightens their grip and sits on my legs. The glasses case tumbles from my cold fingers and lands with a light clatter near the window. My other arm is pinned beneath me, so I manage to dislodge it when someone else grabs it. Well, great.

 

I turn my head to look at my captors. The one who's currently using me as a chair has auburn hair and tanned skin. He wears a dark grey t-shirt with a brown leather jacket and navy jeans, sunglasses on top of his head. The other one is pale with red-brown hair and a scowl painted across his face. He's wearing white gloves, gold-and-black uniform, and a purple cape. I open my mouth to yell out for help, just to have Gloves stuff a cloth in my mouth and tie a another one around my jaw to secure it.

 

I settle for glaring at the two strangers, Kumo still snoring beside my legs.

 

"Easy the'e, Maple T'ee," Sunglasses smirks in a quiet New York accent. Really, 'Maple Tree?' People really need to stop giving me uncreative nicknames like that. First there was Poutine Bowl, Syrup Superstar, now Maple Tree."We don't want ya waking up the whole house, do we now."

 

Gloves rolls his eyes and scowls more (how much more can he scowl?!). "Hurry up, Allen-San," he whispers. A _well-blindfold-him-and-hand-me-the-bat-if-you-don't-want-to-do-it_ answers him. Gloves goes and walks to the window, where he bends down. A moment later he returns with a third cloth and a bat, which glints with looks like... _nails_?!

 

I struggle wildly and get a leg free. Just as I'm about to kick Kumo awake, Allen grabs my legs by the ankles in one big hand. "HAH! Look he'e, Ku'o, he's t'ying to wake his pet," he laughs, still at whisper level. Kuro doesn't say anything, just proceeds to hand the bat (oh, maple) to Allen and blindfolds me.

 

"This won't hu't a bit," Allen snickers. "This will hu't _a lot_."

 

A spike of pain flares on the back of my head, and I'm knocked unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the chapters might seemed quick-paced or skipping of some sorts.
> 
>  
> 
> I realize i'm not that good with accents.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon me for any accents or translations that are not accurate.
> 
> inutile nazione - Italian for 'worthless nation'
> 
> maldestro - Italian for 'clumsy'
> 
> (rest of translations are in-chapter)

 

 

"... do with him?"

 

I blink open my eyes slowly. I wince as I feel dull, throbbing pain at the back of my skull, as painful as a cut with water seeping into it. The cold white lights burn my vision, causing me to squint. I'm laying down on some sort of metal tabletop, and there are blurry figures surrounding me. My body is pretty sore. There's quiet murmuring and I just manage to hear snippets of the conversation, though not enough to gain information from. Suddenly, the feeling of déjà vu hits me.

 

This was my dream.

 

Just to make sure, I try to move my arms. Yup, they are tightly clamped down by by my thighs. My waist and legs are also secured. There is no way I can get out of this problem. Ugh. Then, somebody standing near my head moves. I see something glinting in their hand. It's the man all decked in pastel colours! He slips my glasses on and my vision goes into sharp relief, causing me to blink rapidly for a moment. The room is pretty big, as large as our international meetings for G20 and such. It is also almost identical, the colours and furniture varying. The table I'm on is in one of the corners, surrounded with people watching me.

 

"Hello, poppet," Pastel says sweetly, grinning. I frown up at him. He has pale, rosy skin with freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks. His messy ginger hair frames his electric blue eyes, giving him a young boyish face. His eyebrows are large, like England's. Pastel is also wearing a loose-fitting white dress shirt, blue butterfly bow tie, pink sweater vest, and lavender slacks. "Ah, don't be upset, dear," he says.

 

"Don't coo over him, Unicorn Barf," a guy sneers at my feet. I sit up as best as I could and look at him. He has long, messy blond hair, indigo eyes, and stubble. The loose purple shirt he wears has a trace of ash, probably from the cigarette he is smoking. He directs a meaningful glare in my direction. "Since when did the 1ps be any good to us 2ps?"

 

1ps? 2ps?

 

"What the heck are 1ps and 2ps?" I suddenly blurt out. I clamp my jaw firmly shut so I wouldn't mistakenly blurt anything else out. Well, at least I _might_ get an answer to one of my questions swarming my brain. The murmuring around me quiets down.

 

"Dhid the _Äldre nationer ( **older nations** )_ not tell withle Matthew Williams about us?" someone at the back leers in a sugarcoated voice. The one who spoke looks suspiciously like Sweden, except this person's blond hair is black at the tips, wearing red, and has sharp yellow eyes. I look at him and shake my head. Wait, how do they know my human name and that I'm a nation?

 

I'm getting a peculiar feeling about this.

 

"Well, poppet," Pastel says with a grin. "All you need to know is that we're" he indicates the rest of the room "known as 2ps, 'alter egos' of you," he points at me, "1ps, also known as the 'Original Nations.' We conveniently also look identical to you 1ps. Conveniently." He says the last part with a wide grin.

 

I suck in my breath quickly. The Nation Education I had gotten when I was still a young one hadn't covered these guys. Dammit France, England, and Norway! It would've been useful to tell me about these guys.

 

There is a rattle and click as a doorknob is being turned. Everyone, including myself, turn to look behind me as the door opens. It reveals a bright haired blond with light skin, wearing a white designer suit with a red scarf and rose shades. A long, curly ahoge trails from his hair on the left. It's 2p Romano, I bet. The ahoge doesn't lie.

 

"He's ready now!" 2p Romano announces proudly.

 

"Flávio, I was supposed to leave more then an hour ago," a gruff voice grumbled behind him. A tall individual who looks almost _exactly_  like me stands behind Flávio. He wears an open red flannel shirt (like the kind I wear to bed, which I'm currently wearing), revealing a bandage wrapped around his whole chest. Who I assume is my 2p wears denim shorts, which I obviously don't wear to bed. Denim is too uncomfortable for sleep for me. But, I don't think everyone knows that...

 

"Well, you can still go through the window, Matt" Flávio informs cheerfully. Huh, Matthew and Matt. He takes a phone out of a pocket and reads out the time. "It's only 5:04 AM. Remember to hide your extra few inches of height as much as possible and reapply the coverup and hair-dye every time it needs to be. Also, button up, you can't let them see your bandages."

 

"Ugh," Matt groans. "Like I said, make-up is for girls and I still have no idea why I agreed to this." He buttons up his flannel without another word, though.

 

"Well, if you got more _sleep_ , didn't have him _scratch_ you, and put on more _sunscreen_ more often," Pastel- plainly 2p England, you just look at the eyebrows- scolded. "You wouldn't need to."

 

"Vell, Oliver, eet's not dat easy for some," a mutter sounds quietly by my ear. I look up and see a dark and very tall man there. Black hair, crimson eyes with dark spots under them, and pale complexion; you would probably mistake him easily for a vampire. Don't tell Romania I said that, he gets a bit testy on vampire stereotypes. He wears a pale grey scarf and Russia's uniform, except it's black with red trimming instead of brown. 2p Russia.

 

I open my mouth to speak as Oliver, Matt, and Flávio start a bickering argument. My voice comes out dry, so I clear my throat and look around at the people in the room. "Excuse me, you 2ps seem like nice people and all, but when can I go home?" Everyone looks at me, as if realizing I was there and had said something disgusting.

 

"Hah, no way, aru" This time it's from a guy wearing his dark red hair in a ponytail. He's brown-eyed, wearing a sleeveless red Changshan unbuttoned at the top, revealing a dark dragon tattoo on his left arm. His red military hat sports the signature Communist hammer and sickle.

 

"You a'e going to be staying he'e a while," Allen grins from beside Oliver. Well, maple. There is a chance they might release me from my bindings, for one reason or another. I could try and escape if they take me out of this room. Worth a shot.

 

"Flávio and Luciano," Oliver addresses the blond and someone who had walked over to his side. Dark hair, tan skin, magenta eyes. Italian military uniform and patent-leather boots. Like I said before, the ahoge doesn't lie, so Luciano ought be (North) Italy. He has a small hat perched on his head. "You will escort our 'guest' from the meeting room to his prepared chambers. Come back after."

 

Luciano rolls his eyes and mutters something along the lines of "acts and thinks he's the boss" under his breath quietly. I feel the tight clamps relinquish their hold on me. I get up and start massaging my sore wrists. Everyone except the two Italian brothers and Matt move to the far side of the room and sit at the round table.

 

"You want to walk with us?" Flávio asks Matt. He shrugs simply and stands beside him. Wait a second... Disguise, 'sneak through the window,' and Oliver emphasizing the word conveniently... Oh my maple, there is without a doubt that he's going to spy!

 

"Follow us, _Nazione senza valore_ ," says Luciano in a derogatory tone. I have no idea what he said and Flávio just looks at him sternly. I follow him, Matt and Flávio behind me. The passageway is dim and made of concrete, only a bulb hanging every few meters to show the way. I immediately start thinking about how to escape.

 

If Matt goes off before I am escorted to a room (a jail cell or similar, I bet), it would only be one against two, which is not very favourable odds but least better than three. Flávio looks like he wouldn't want to scuff up his outfit and Luciano seems to have Italy's build. Italy isn't that strong, to be honest. I'm not that strong like America, though. This is not the first time I wished I was almost as strong as him (he once ran around dragging England's heavy Rolls Royce just to ask permission to drive it). Hopefully my 2p does leave, if he has strength greater then my own.

 

"Matt." A tall albino approaches us from a door as we turn a corner. There's only one albino nation that I truly know: Prussia. His 2p has long curly, messy hair tied back with a black ribbon, revealing intelligent red eyes and a deeply scarred face. He wears the long, billowing white outfit of the Teutonic Knights with the Iron Cross displayed in black on the front. A black eagle stares at me from his shoulder. Hah, looks like there is also a Gilbird 2.0.

 

"Gilen, I really must be on my way," Matt says curtly from behind me. His eyes flash behind the glasses mirroring mine. "The house is about an hour drive, after all."

 

"Santiago can surely wait, even with his temper," Gilen assures. He waves his hand in a way telling us that we can go, except for Matt. We continue walking in the poor light up an incline to a staircase. The stairs are wooden and old, so they creak loudly. I am about to place my foot on the third topmost step when the wood snaps beneath it and goes through. I try to tug my foot out, but it barely budged. Nice job, myself, now you're stuck.

 

"Good luck trying to get out of that, _maldestro_ ," Luciano says, raising his dark eyebrows and smiling in a mockful way. I hear a quick laugh from Flávio behind me. Well, you don't have to be une secousse about it. It is embarrassing to have one's own foot cause you to become stuck, however.

 

"Here, _amore ( **love** ),_" Flávio says. He grabs me under the armpits (this is embarrassing for a several hundred of years old like me). "You push down with your other foot and I'll pull." Luciano watched from the doorway as we manage to free myself.

 

" _Grazie ( **thank you** )_, Mr Flávio," I say. Italy had taught me how to say a few things in Italian a few times. Nations should know a few basic words from other languages, just in case. Yeah, I know it's also kind of weird for me to say 'Mr Flávio,' especially when I'm being held captive. Well, England had taught me to be polite, even in sticky conditions. My stomach churns faintly.

 

"Hmm." Flávio indicates for me to continue following Luciano. "It's nice for you to thank me in my mother tongue. Who taught you?" He tilts his head and smiles slightly at me. Huh.

 

"Felicano Vargas," I reply, walking after Luciano. The walls are dark crimson, the hardwood floor made of purpleheart. "1p North Italy, if you don't know." They lead me past several doors until stopping at a navy blue one with a squared window. There are several locks. Here's my chance! As Luciano takes out a ring of keys from his pocket, I whirl around and try to kick Flávio in the chest. He steps aside and grabs my ankle swiftly like a snake. I hear the jingle of keys and the clicking of locks being unlocked. Before I could react, I feel arms pinning mine to my sides.

 

"Uh oh, _fratello ( **brother** )_," Flávio says to Luciano calmly, gazing at him from over my shoulder. "Looks like he's trying to escape before the fun has even started!" I gulp as Flávio takes out syringe, clear liquid sloshing inside. I try to struggle out of their grips, but Flávio's is iron tight and Luciano keeps readjusting everytime I'm even close to breaking free. Flávio leans in close, his breath tickling my cheeks. He smiles and says "This wont hurt a bit, _amore_." The needlepoint of the syringe digs into my upper arm. My body goes numb and I can barely move. "Also, just calling me Flávio is fine."

 

Flávio lets go of my leg and it falls down almost limply. He takes my glasses off and follows Luciano, who drags me in. I am plopped onto the bed and my eyelids droop. I hear the sounds of the door closing and locks clicking shut. For the second time that night, I become unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

**2p Canada/ Matt POV**

 

"What is it?" I ask. Gilen walks back into the room without a word and I follow him in. A wide desk with files stacked on it is in the middle of the room. Pale filing cabinets line the cracked stone walls and two computers hum amongst them. This is what we call our Information Room, or Source.

 

Gilen treads quickly to the desk and flips his messy ponytail back over his shoulder. I reach up and twist some of my newly cut hairs. Ugh, as I said before, why did I agree to this. I stand beside him and Gilen hands me a tall stack of more than a dozen files. They're not that heavy, though.

 

"What are these for?" I ask. I flip open the top one and a picture of my 1p peers up at me, papercliped to several sheets of printed paper. There are various facts and information. I flip through the other ones, too, with other nations' photos and information. "I don't need these, Gilen," I say, sliding them back onto the desk. "I already know plenty of information from trusted sources." I make my way to the door, prepared to leave, when Gilen stops me.

 

"Bet you didn't know our 1ps are dating," he says, raising an almost colourless brow. I stop in my tracks and turn around. I've read a bit about 1p Prussia, and I didn't know he was dating Matthew! I don't believe my 1p, out of all 1ps, would go for that pompous peice of albino! Fuck. Looks like I'm going to have to fake _une jolie relation amoureuse_ ( _ **a goddamn romantic relationship**_ ). "You definitely didn't know that, I can tell by your face. And there's more you probably don't know," he informs. Gilbird- named so by the fact that it's a bird and Gilen owns it, obviously- chirps (yes, hawks can chirp. Read an information book for once, you lazy lump of pine) and ruffles its feathers.

 

"Well, that is news to me," I confess, raising both of my dyed eyebrows in return. "Fine, I'll take the damned files." I take said files and put them under my arm. My hand is barely a few inches from the doorknob when it turns by itself.

 

"Ah," Flávio says, puffing. He adjusts his lopsided designer shades slightly. "I was just outside the conference room when I had saw that you've forgotten to take the supplies." He offers the red duffle bag in his hand to me. I take it gratefully, though I try not to show it. I didn't know that I had forgotten my supplies. The contents rattle slightly as I add the files inside. "What are those?" he asks, looking at the spot where the files had been before disappearing inside.

 

"Extra, and more useful, information," Gilen replies. Gilbird squawks this time, looking my way. Its owner winks at me in a teasing way. "Courtesy of me," he adds as an afterthought. He goes and bends over a computer. "Good luck, _genosse_ ( ** _comrade_** )."

 

Flávio stands to one side, making space for me to walk through the door. "I'll walk with you," he says. I sigh gruffly and let him fall into step beside me, like I had done a few minutes ago. We walk into the corridor silently and turn down a narrow side one, the walls packed dirt and enforced wooden frames.

 

"Hey, Matt," he says, catching my attention and breaking the silence. A moment, then he confesses: "Your 1p is pretty cute. I'm tempted." He laughs at my expression and punches my arm playfully. Ouch. "I'm kidding, _ragazzo di alci_!" ( ** _moose boy_** ; a common nickname that Flávio unfortunately likes using for me.) Though he laughs and smiles, I'm not convinced. I don't give a beaver's ass, anyways, for my 1p though.

 

The passage ends and we're in a large cave, which has been turned into a garage. There are about at least a dozen different cars, mostly dark coloured. One of my fellow 2ps is leading against a black Jeep, one arm crossed over his chest while the other flips a knife. He wears a brown military uniform and has a long, thin scar on his medium-coloured face. Short-tempered bright green eyes watch me from under long, black bangs stained with white.

 

"Finally," Santiago (2p Spain) sneers. "Your little dress-up game seemed to take forever." He gets up and reaches through the driver side window. The Jeep leaps up suddenly as it roars to a start, headlights illuminating some of the other cars. I press one of the buttons beside me on the wall, causing the door behind the car we're using tonight to slide open. The sun's edge stains the dark sky orange and pink in the east, the trees still and dark, looming over the well-trodden dirt path. I open the passenger side door and hop in after putting the duffle bag on the floor in front of the seat. Flávio leads through the open window as Santiago climbs in.

 

"Best of luck," he says. He shifts his blood-red scarf. "Remember that-"

 

"I'm closing the window, Flav," I butt in. I press down the button as soon as I have said that. Flávio huffs and takes his light head out. Santiago reverses the car out and then sideways, turning the front towards the dirt path's direction of course. I look into the mirror on my door to see Flávio waving. I don't return it and the garage door is closed.

 

**_-Time Skip-_ **

 

Device passwords, check. Dye and make-up, check. My phone and 1p's phone, check...

 

I ruffle through the items, making sure everything I need is there. The car rumbles to a halt amongst the trees near the house. Gosh, house is an understatement. Though, compared to the houses we have, this one is somewhat smaller. Same volume range, however. There is a single light on, but a second before I open my door, it diminishes. I wait a few minutes, then climb out.

 

"Bub-bye, Williams," Santiago says. We do get along occasionally, but usually we still address each other by our surnames only. I bid him farewell ("Smell you later, Carriedo"). Santiago drives off into the retreating darkness. The early morning air chills my ankles and face as I make my way as silently as possible to the 1ps' house. The sun is fully visible on the rest of the forest on the house's other side, casting my shadow behind me.

 

It is a good thing that even the lowest windows are high enough to sneak below right by the house. I head, crouching as I go, to a window a few meters than midway of the house's back. I look through Matthew's window. The screen is down and the window still open, just like Al promised. I'm about to climb in, but pause as I see a set of dark eyes watching me, set in a white-furred face: 1p Kumojiro.

 

"Where were you and who are you?" he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side. He waddles over to the window and peers at me.

 

"I'm Canada, or Matthew. Who else?" Recognition crosses his face. "I just took a walk in the forest for a few hours because I couldn't fall to sleep and went through the window so I wouldn't disturb anyone." Woo, a great lie, Matt. I mentally give myself a pat on the back.

 

"Oh," the polar bear says. He moves back, letting me climb through the window. I take out the phones and files when he buries under the covers and slide the latter in a drawer of the desk beside it. After, I place the duffle bag of stuff on top of the pale wardrobe (too many cheery colours, I can already tell. Ugh) where he can most likely not reach. I sit on top of the bed and check the time. 6:27 AM. I turn the electronic off and just lay on the bed. "Welcome back then, Canada," Kumojiro says, and snuggles under my arm, emerging from the blankets. I flinch, but relax as he starts to snore softly.

 

My version of Kumojiro is different. He's a bigger polar bear by about a third of this one (who looks like he reaches to around my knees on all fours) and is named Kuma. I had befriended him when I went to see the 2p Nordics of North Europe on a certain matter. He tends to be more... on the brutish side then the rest of his kind. I have the literal scars to prove that fact, too.

 

I stay lying done for a stretch of time, simply thinking. The sun is finally high enough that the whole disk of light shines on the water when I decide that I faked sleeping enough. I carefully move away from the sleeping creature beside me and head to the desk. I sit down and pull out both the phones with me, placing one- Matthew's- on top of the desk. I turn mine on (10:33 AM). There are several messages, so I check them out, replying as I go.

 

\----

**Luciano Ve~** : ur 1p is a bit feisty (-_-) tried to kick fratello

 

**Matt** : hah, told u the quiet 1s tend to b like tht

-

 

**Oliver Don't-Eat-His-Cupcakes K.** : u in?

 

**Matt** : yes, dad

 

**Oliver Don't-Eat-His-Cupcakes K.** : good

-

 

**Gilen Micro-Nation B.** : Santi came back. Oliver told us you're in. Did u have a chance to read some of the extra?

 

**Matt** : course not!

-

 

**Egill Happypants S.** [2p Iceland]: Hiyaa Mattie! X3 Hows it goin?

 

**Matt** : I told u not to call me mattie

 

**Matt** : ok I guess

 

**Egill Happypants S.** : Sweey! Do tell me what you've done so far!! \\(•u•)/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I'm still working on this and published the next short bad chapter : P

**2p Prussia/ Gilen POV**

 

\----

**Matt Williams** : course not!

\----

 

I sigh and slip my phone back into my pocket, hidden from sight among the many white folds. The former 2p Allies (bar one), Axis, Santiago, Flávio, and Nordics are gathered around the meeting table. I scold Allen (2p America), who has his booted feet up on the table again and chewing gum right beside me. "Mein gott, stop putting your feet up. It's indecent," I remind him.

 

2p America continues to chew his gum, glaring at me. "Stop telling me what to do, Gilen." He puts his feet down, though... "You a'e not even a full nation anymo'e," he smirks. I ignore his taunt. My younger brother Siegfried has stood up, preparing to speak. Odd, he tends to be a bit sloppy and carefree most of the time, so usually tries to refrain from coming to these meetings, let alone speak at one.

 

"As you know, the schedule for both guard duties has gone up," he announces. Hmm, Luciano is the one who was supposed to announce that. Looks like bruder got convinced into doing it instead. "They're posted at Source and in the kitchen. Right now, guard set one is me-" he points at himself, "and Bernard," he points out 2p Sweden. "Second set is Allen," he points at him beside me, "Oliver," he points at 2p England a couple of seats away from Allen, "and Magnus." 2p Denmark is right beside him, so my brother just looks at him.

 

"Fuck," I hear Allen mutter. "With cupcake maniac again." Oliver seems to have heard, for he turns his head and pulls out a jar full of money. 'Swear Jar, No Touchy' is labeled in extra curly green cursive.

 

"Swear jar, son," he smiles, sliding the labeled jar to Allen. "A dollar your country." Allen pulls out his wallet and pulls out an one dollar bill. Oliver unscrews the jar and drops in the money Allen reluctantly hands over. "Good job, poppet," he smiles more widely with a hint of pride as he pops the lid back on. "Only three cusses from you the whole meeting!"

 

"Only because you''e dep'iving me of money, old guy," Allen snaps. I see him twist one of the nails of his bat under the table with his hand.

 

"Tut, tut," Oliver says back. "That's no way to talk to your father!"

 

Allen's face turns slightly red a bit as he stands up. In a raised voice, he counters, "YOU A'E NOT EV-"

 

"Guys, please take your father-son feud somewhere else," I butt in. I pull Allen down into his seat by the shoulder as I also get out of my seat. "This is a meeting, and we have no time for this." I clear my throat a bit. "If anyone else has something important to say- _not_ about how we should shun emo clothing and memes," I remind Egill (2p Iceland). He huffs and rolls his beige eyes- or eye, as one is covered by a dark eyepatch. "As I was saying. If you do, speak now or we shall call this meeting to a close." I'm met with silence. Nobody moves. "Ok, guards go to your places, the next set will refresh you in about eight hours at 6:30pm. Everyone, remember to check." This time, a couple of groans arise. "Good day to you all," I bid. Everyone gets up in turn, heading for the door. Allen and Oliver immediately start bickering as they are barely out of the room. Francois (2p France) trails behind them, smoking an ever present cigarette.

 

I stay and gather up the scattered papers I had read from earlier for the meeting. Some people call me a bit of a neat-freak, but I just like to stay organized. As I bend down to reach for one, someone taps my shoulder. I immediately turn around to see who had touched me, bristling slightly.

 

"Mein gott, Siegfried," I say. I place down the sheet that I managed to retrieve on top of the others. My Gilbird hops onto my shoulder. "Some verbal warning, next time." I take the notes into my arms and head for the exit, my younger brother walking beside me. "So, what's up?"

 

"Really, Gil?" he asks me. He strokes Gilbird with a finger, who snaps at him. He chuckles softly. "Does one bruder have to have something very important just to talk to the other? Or an actual nation to a micro one?" He says the last part with a bite of malice, grinning. I do wish people would stop poking fun at that mere factor of history. It gets a tad bit on my nerves, but I try not to let it show. It just encourages my peers, though they still do it even if I barely react.

 

"I suppose not. But I didn't exactly specify it was probably important," I sigh. My pet hawk clicks his beak in my ear. I put up a hand from holding the papers to pet his head. "Now, what _did_ you want to tell me?"

 

"Nothing special," Siegfried says, a tang of spite having leaked into his words. "Just that you're on first duty after this set with Flávio." I stand back and let him climb the staircase up first. As I follow him up, I barely notice the broken step and manage to direct my foot away in time. Really, Flávio. A bit too perky and bright, to be honest.

 

"Well, ok then," I reply. Good to know. We emerge into the hallway and proceed to the stairs. I nod at 2p Sweden who is standing outside a blue door, a shade close to my own 1p's uniform. I glance through the window and see Matthew Williams (1p Canada) lying on the bed, sound asleep from the sedative that Luciano had mentioned his brother used on him. He's a bit scrawny and lean, around my height.

 

"Bye, Siegfried. Bernard," I bid, going up the staircase. I turn left, where my room is directly over Williams'. Actually, the correct way of calling him would be Matthew since both him and Matt share the same last name. Anyway, I open my door, which has a small copy of my flag in inverted colours painted on. We all have big houses that we hold our meetings in. Most of the rooms have inverted versions of the flags belonging to the 2ps that usually come on the doors. The rest are extra rooms for other countries or 'guests' like Matthew.

 

The shapes in my room are indistinguishable, until I close the door and flick on the lights with a white finger. The walls are Prussian blue (if we have signature colours or designs, then our rooms are painted with them). A metal shield emblazoned with the Iron Cross is mounted on the wall over the light grey desk. A few swords, knives, and a couple of small pistols sit mounted on the walls, too. Gilbird swoops onto the perch between my closed window (the shutters are open) and canopy bed. The bed is magenta with red hangings, placed beside the walk in closet.

 

I pick up the dummy I use for training practice and stand it back up in the middle of the room on top of the black mats. I change my outfit (the idea of wearing an uniform all the time is absolutely absurd!) in favour of brown slacks and a dull, light blue t-shirt.

 

After going on my laptop and reading for a few hours, I look at the time and decide it's an alright time to do a bit of practice. I pick up one of the long swords with caution and place down my phone onto the table so it wouldn't get wrecked.

 

I start with a few basic strikes, the metal thumping softly against cloth. Gilbird oversees me, unwavering at each sound. A couple of salty droplets start dotting my skin about an hour into this practice. I aim my next strike when suddenly-

 

_Slice! Thunk!_

 

"Mein gott!" I swear under my breath. I hastily put the sword back one-handed, the other carrying a stinging cut on the wrist. How the hell did I fumble bad enough that I almost tripped and cut myself, in the process that the dummy fell?

 

I head off out in search of a bandage.

 

Looks like sparing is done for the day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write this but had NO IDEA where to go with this chapter, so you get a bad ending

**Canada/ Matthew POV**

 

_"Hello? Hello, is zere anyone zere?" an accented voice calls out. "I need help! Ze-"_

 

I instantly wake up, feeling numb, as something muffled smacks down in the room above me. Where am I? I grope around on the bedside cabinets beside me and grasp my glasses. I slide them on and the events of the night rush back to me.

 

Maple.

 

I sit up, the white blanket bunching up around me. The room is like the one I was residing in at England's, except for the window. It's normal-sized and there are iron bars blocking it. Fricking great.

 

I finally notice 2p Germany in the room, leaning against the wall beside the door. He looks exactly like the original, except for a few details. His eyes are a pinkish purple with dark lines beneath them. A stitched scar stretches across his cheek beneath the left eye and three are on his right forearm. The white tank top is stained, with a khaki jacket hanging off by his shoulders. The uniform trousers are black and a WW2 field cap sits amongst messy hair. An Iron Cross glints from around his throat.

 

"Finally awake?" the 2p asks.

 

"Yes, obviously," I answer, impatient. "Like I would totally be asleep with my eyes wide open, eh." He chuckles for a moment at my reply, but goes right back to attempting to look serious.

 

"Don't sass me, 1p Canada," he commands me. Like he can tell me what to. I roll my eyes. We look at each other, quiet. A minor headache starts developing, pulsing against my skull. Finally, he breaks the (awkward) silence. "You hungry?" he questions me. I finally realize that hunger is gnawing my stomach so I nod.

 

"Bernard!" he calls, knocking on the wooden door. The window opens and 2p Sweden's face appears. "Kid says he's hungry." He nods and his face disappears from view. I'm not a kid! Sure, I appear to be either in late teens or early twenties, but that's not the point! 2p Germany turns back and watches me. I shift around in the bed uncomfortably under his gaze and start playing with my hair, careful not to touch my curl.

 

"Soooo," I say quietly, nervous because these 2ps could probably harm me. Sure, I was being all 'tough and sarcastic' earlier, but that only happens for a moment during certain times. "What- what's your name?"

 

2p Germany presses his lips together firmly as if making a decision. "Siegfried," he supplies simply and plainly.

 

Another silence stretches between us before the door clicks open and Bernard walks in with a tray. " 'morning," is all he says, placing down the tray beside me and leaving quickly. The door clicks shut again.

 

I transfer the bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios onto my lap, picking up the spoon from beside the cup of tea (tea with cereal??..) beside it. I watch Siegfried with careful eyes, trying to devise a plan of escape. Brilliantly good ones don't come to mind in any shape or form. Internally screaming in exasperation (but externally sighing), I switch the empty bowl for the cup of tea and take a sip. I realize it's Earl Grey, but both sweeter and more bitter then the last time I had some with England. Sure, the man is bad at cooking, but his tea is pretty good.

 

Even that thought makes me yearn to go back to the other personifications even more. (They do forget me sometimes, but I still love being around them!)

 

"When am I go-going to be able to go b-back?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor in my voice away.

 

"Heh," is all he replies with.

 

"When am I going back?" I press again, my voice firmer then before. My headache increases.

 

He doesn't say anything at all this time.

 

"I demand you tell me!" I say, my voice rising a tad bit. Why am I always the damsel in distress?! "You can't keep me here against my will, eh!"

 

_Slap!_ CRASH! "You shut _up!_ "

 

"Ow," I complain. I raise my hand to my cheek, cupping the place where the doppelgänger's hand had made contact. The area stings slightly, less than an inch below my left eye. Siegfried stands in front of me, his right hand raised slightly as if prepared to strike me again. I gather myself up from the floor carefully and slowly, watching his hands. I have rarely been stricken when I was noticed and not mistaken for my twin brother. I'm not saying it hasn't happened, but I haven't been for something I've done. I quickly think over what happened.

 

"Oh-oh, sorry if I was being annoying, eh," I apologize hastly. Siegfried's hand lowers and his annoyed gaze softens slightly.

 

"Well, you were in fact being annoying," he says honestly. "Really, whining 'bout wanting to go home? Give me a break." He rolls his eyes and said it in a rehearsed way, as if he had to relay that wording many times. For all I know, he could've had to.

 

I sit back down on the bed and stare at the floor, thinking. Siegfried goes back to his position by the door. He stands and I sit for a while until the door opens and the change of guards happens.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, this chapter is a bit laaaame.... Warning because a certain /someone/ adds swearing to his own POV

**2p Canada/ Matt POV**

 

_Knock, KNOCK!_

 

"Hey, Birdie!" someone says from behind the closed door.

 

"Yes?" I ask, confused. Birdie...? How ridiculous! "Come in, door's open."

 

I close the laptop as an albino bursts in wearing a black tank top, red shorts, and a small yellow bird chirping on his head. He tackles me into a hug, causing me to almost fall out of my chair.

 

"The awesome me has been waiting for an unawesome half an hour in the kitchen for you for an almost awesome lunch! Totally unawesome!" he rattles off to me. Fuuuuuuck, I was expected to have lunch with this guy?

 

"Sorry for that, Gilbert," I phrase carefully. "Looks like the time got the best of me, eh?" The albino lets go of me as Kumojiro comes over. The bird on Gilbert's head flutters down to land on the bear's, and the two walk out into the hallway, leaving us alone.

 

"Were you on the kinda awesome website of Tumblr again?" he asks me, raising a brow. Hmm, reminds me a bit of Gilen... Well, no shit, they're their literally own doubles.

 

"Maybe?" I say, the answer a bit more of a question than statement. What the hell is a Tumblr? Sounds like a site where people tumble down hills after their idols or some other fucked up shit.

 

"Well, c'mon then, birdie!" he says. He tugs on my arm, forcing me to get up. I change my stance, trying to hide my extra inches. Gilbert looks at me, his eyes catching on the outfit I was wearing. "Since when did you wear flannel and jeans together, birdie?"

 

"Well... I usually wear them nowadays, the flannel especially since it's loose and thin and it's hot out," I reply. Well, the last part is true; it is hot out.

 

"Well, it look pretty awesome on you," he compliments. I don't even question why he keeps using the word 'awesome'. It's so fucking annoying, though.

 

"Thanks."

 

We walk out into the hallway, proceeding to the kitchen. There are already a few people there, eating.

 

"Kon'nichiwa, Prussia-Kun, and er-"

 

"Canada, or just Matthew" Gilbert fills in. Uh-huh, yeah it's totally okay to simply forget someone's name that you've been aquatinted with for centuries.

 

"Ah, yes. Kon'nichiwa, Canada-San," 1p Japan- Kiku- hurries in his quiet voice. He blinks at me, then continues eating his noodles.

 

"Ciao, Gil, Matthew!" A small Italian stops from eating pasta and pipes up from beside Kiku.

 

"Guten tag, Feli and Kiku," Gilbert says in return.

 

"Good afternoon," I follow up.

 

"Do you want some pasta and garlic bread?" Feliciano grins, pointing at a pot on the stove. "Fratello is still unpacking, so he didn't eat. But there's still plenty!"

 

"Sure," Gilbert replies. "That'll be awesome! How about you, Birdie?"

 

"Yeah," I say. He grabs dishes and fills them up with saucy pasta. He hands me a plate filled with it, some garlic bread accompanying it.

 

"Thanks." I start eating as another Italian, with a Spaniard, enter. Both are brown-haired and green-eyed.

 

"Oh, so the older potato-bastard is here, too," the second Italian spits out. "Fratello, did you remember to save me some of the fucking pasta?"

 

"Ve~ Yes I did, Romano!" Feliciano says. "It's on the stove, and there's some garlic bread, too!"

 

"Lovi, watch your potty mouth!" 1p Spain- Antonio- exclaims. "Don't be rude!"

 

"Shut it, Spain," Romano says from the stove.

 

So right now I'm dealing with a rude Flávio, kind Luciano, non-swearing Santiago, big-head Gilen, and a quiet Kuro. Oh well. Hah, if Siegfried's is actually respo-

 

"Italien! Did you even unpack?" a German voice calls from the doorway. "I told you you would get lazy if you ate before!" Surprise, fucking surprise, I stand corrected.

 

"Hey, don't you yell shit at Veneziano, potato bastard!"

 

"Ve~ Don't fight, please!"

 

"C'mon, lets go before they start arguing," Gilbert whispers into my ear. He grabs his half-finished plate and I follow him out back into the hallway, 1p Germany (Ludwig) having moved closer to the the Italian twins.

 

"And why are we leaving them to their own devices, eh?" I ask. Only pussies leave fights, even if they're not involved.

 

"Bruder doesn't really get unawesomely angry at Feli, just unawesomely annoyed, remember? So it'll end soon, hugs and kisses most likely involved." The last part seemed to sound a bit heartbroken for whatever reason.

 

"Oh, yeah," I add. Urgh, looks like really do need to take a look at Gilen's shitty info so that I can accurately be undercover.

 

We head into the living room, where there are three more country personifications.

 

"Hey, I thought Artie told us you weren't coming yet!" Gilbert says as we sit down on an empty couch. Arthur (1p England) looks up at him sternly from the conversation he was having with the other two.

 

"Good morning to you, too," he grumbles. "Also, I didn't even say when they were coming, and it's alright for Lukas and Emil to have come now."

 

"We were not planning to come until tomorrow, since Ice and I went to go visit Vladimir's," the light-haired Norwegian explained. His dull blue eyes are trained on the ceiling.

 

"Oh, was Romania not home?" Arthur asks. I stuff a piece of bread in my mouth, listening to the conversation (though I don't actually need to, heh).

 

"Nope, not at all. His _zână_ friend was there, though from what we could understand was that she didn't know where he went."

 

The Icelandic with silver hair rolls his violet eyes. He mumbles to the puffin on his shoulder about " _why are they talking about mythical creatures like they exist_ , again?". Nobody else hears him except for me and the big-headed albino beside me.

 

"Maybe he went to visit Moldova or Bulgaria for a while?" I supply. I know for a fact that 1p Romania has strong, close ties with those two.

 

"Maybe," Arthur sighs. The conversation moves onto other matters. Gilbert turns to face me, finishing his plate.

 

"Wadda want to do today with the awesome me?" he asks. "Want to go into the awesome forest or something and explore?"

 

"Er, yeah, why not," I say. I would like to try and do my job as a spy and look around, but I still need to act as if I'm this guy's... boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A zână is a Romanian folklore creature. I don't know that much about them (thanks a lot, Wikipedia).  
> All i know is that:  
> 1)They're the Romanian equivalent of the Greek Charites or fairy Godmother.  
> 2)They can also be considered the Romanian equivalent of fairies and of the Germanic Elf.


End file.
